A Good Girlfriend
by Hekko
Summary: Ray's thoughts of Bodie's current girlfriend. A series of drabbles. Evolves into a story slowly. Please review.
1. Foul Mood

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
Foul Mood**

* * *

It hurts to admit it, but she's probably good for Bodie. Even the way she drives - _drives him home from the hospital_ - not as fast as Bodie would, but fast for a white-collar girl. How he hates her. 

Doyle turns his head to look at her, pretty and calm, eyes fixed on the road. She appeared at the hospital out of blue, asked about Bodie, conferred with Cowley and offered to drive him home since he himself sported a broken wrist and his fellow operatives were _busy_. So now they're here, in her car, she's concentrated and he's in a foul mood.

Doyle hates her. He stopped trying to disguise it about a fortnight ago. Bodie hasn't said anything to it, she doesn't seem to mind. Bitch. He reaches out to turn the radio on and the car is filled with some girly screams he couldn't care less for if he tried. She tunes to his favourite station and smiles smugly.

He hates the way she always knows, or pretends to know, what he wants. Is she his girlfriend or Bodie's? But he has to put up with her because somehow she's managed to melt her life with Bodie's and so far, Bodie seems to like it that way. Doyle turns to look out of the window, wincing as his neck gives a painful throb. She makes a soft tutting sound.

The weather is terrible as usually and London looks just grey, Ray decides. The day's gone all wrong, villains have fled, Bodie's sleeping off drugs at hospital, Ray Doyle is being driven home by a woman he hates with a beautiful outlook for her fussing about him _as Bodie would if..._ He sighs.

"You don't have to be jealous, you know," she says and Doyle snorts. Jealous? As if he wanted her. But she hasn't finished yet.

"He loves you more than me, anyway." She pulls over and meets his eyes and finally he sees the silent resignation there, the acceptance of her situation, of the price she has to pay if she wants to keep Bodie close. "More than anybody, I'd say."

As he gets out and feels the soft touches of water on his face, he decides the weather isn't that terrible after all.

"For God's sake, don't stand there like a statue, it's _raining._ Don't you remember the way to your place anymore?" She sounds amused and he grins at her.

Oh, how he...


	2. Fruit and Chocolate

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
Fruit and Chocolate**

* * *

Doyle watches her clearing the table and bringing spoons and small plates for pudding. He wants to refuse, but she winks at him and uncoveres the cake. 

"What's this?" Bodie pokes suspiciously into it.

"It's a fruit cake. Fresh oranges, grapefruits, limets and such," his girlfriend answers with a shining grin.

"Fresh fruits?" Bodie looks unconvinced.

"Very sweet," she assures him sweetly and loads his plate before reaching for Doyle's.

"It's covered with chocolate," Doyle comments and holds his plate tightly on the spot.

"It's _dark_ chocolate and it's healthy. It's a rich source of the flavonoids epicatechin and gallic acid, which are good for your heart." Doyle gapes and she uses his temporary inactivity to steal his plate.

Five very awkward seconds pass before Bodie, ever the hungry one, tastes a spoonful.

"'s not that bad," he comments happily, stuffing his face. Doyle can't hold himself anymore and bursts into wild laughter.

She smiles.

* * *

**A/N:**The girl quotes Wikipedia online, entry about Chocolate. I don't admit to anything - I even don't know half those words! I just know chocolate's healthy ;) 


	3. Distance Makes Love Grow

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
Distance Makes Love Grow**

* * *

She's been only out of town for a week and Bodie's nearly gone mad.

Well, that's probably an overestimating, Doyle corrects himself. He's acting a bit strange, but whatever it is, it only affects him in the evenings.

Doyle thinks he knows what's the trouble. He just doesn't want to believe it. After all, he has only seen Bodie being serious about a girl once. But Bodie has also admitted to being in love with the girl Krivas had killed, so that makes two of them. Three?

Nah.

But then, on the third evening after her sudden departure ("The boss thinks noone can solve their papers up there. It may take some time. Be a good boy while I'm away, OK?") they went to a pub together. Bodie chatted up a nice, warm and willing bird... and said his goodbye to her after an half an hour.

Doyle was so surprised he nearly forgot to chat up a girl himself.

And not to forget the incident with flowers. Bodie was in the bathroom when she rang up. She claimed she needed someone to water her flowers and could Ray do that for her? Ta. No, she couldn't wait for Bodie to get the phone, she was in a bit of hurry. Give my love to him, will you? And the line went dead.

Bodie watered all the plants himself. Doyle returned to the flat later to check all the green fellas survived and saved a cactus that might have drowned otherwise.

Doyle realises this is probably what she's aiming for - to attach Bodie to her without him knowing, because she knows he would break up with her the second he would realise how deep she's infiltrated his life.

He throws a glance towards Bodie's head bowed over a thick file he has brought home to keep himself occupied with. Should he tell him how domesticated he has become? That would unquestionably change his mood.

Bodie flicks a page. You're so quiet all this week, mate. Next time you'll take up gardening, buy a house and decorate your first child's bedroom.

Doyle sips from his glass and pretends to be reading his book. Bodie looks something up in another file and starts comparing something. He freezes suddenly, cocks his head and listens intently. His face lights up just as the bell rings. Since it's Doyle's place, he puts down his book and...

And Bodie is already at the door, shining like the sun itself.

"Hi. We were passing by and I saw the light. You don't mind?" Stupid question, with Bodie draped all over her like this, and Doyle doesn't bother to answer.

Buy a house with a garden. And a dog to watch it.

"Fine, you're here just to make us dinner," he jokes. Bodie glares at him darkly, but she just laughs.

"What, you two have been starving all the week?" And disappears in the kitchen.


	4. A Completely Different Head

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
A Completely Different Head**

* * *

Doyle opens the door with his left elbow, carefully balancing the last one of his pots, a not-so-perfectly-wrapped picture from a friend and a bag full of groceries in his right arm.

Or, to be precise, he _tries_ to open the door, and fails, because _Bodie has closed the door._ Swearing under his breath, Doyle places his load on the dirty floor to find his keys.

"I feel like having a bloody gnome throwing party just behind my eyes," Bodie complains and Doyle is stopped from yelling at him from the door. Maybe having a mild concussion is a good enough excuse for forgetting one's best mate is on his way up carrying too much to open the door comfortably. Yeah, a mild concussion and a fact that they have been both moved again this week.

"Can I do something for you?" a soft voice asks. Doyle grins. Good, someone to take care of the silly bugger.

"Yeah, give me a new head," Bodie groans.

"I can give you head alright," she promises and Doyle suppresses a chuckle, practically _hearing_ the wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Not this one."

"Oh, a completely different one." Doyle steps closer to the door standing slightly ajar and peeks into the living room. Bodie is sitting on the sofa, surrounded by unpacked crates, and his girlfriend has just sunk to her knees before him and caresses his thighs.

"Stop it, Ray can come any moment now." Despite his words, Bodie spreads his knees wider.

"Be nice to me and _you_ will come in no time." Ah, the girl has a very, very dirty mind - in moments like this, Doyle envies Bodie he has her. He hears something from outside the flat and remembers the bag of groceries he left there. Sure enough, there is a cat examinating it. One of the neibourghs, he has learned from a lady living on the ground floor, likes cats more than it's healthy.

"Shoo!" he shouts and waves his arms wildly. The cat hisses at him, but backs away and he can collect his shoppings. He kicks the door closed behind him and proceeds to enter the living room.

"Doyle!" she cries out, irritated. "You can really choose your moment!" Passing on his way to the tiny kitchenette, Doyle swerves his eyes low enough to check she hasn't even opened Bodie's fly yet.

Bodie lets his head fall back and winces. Probably the gnome complaining.

"I thought you locked the door," she says, still kneeling on the floor, face buried someplace below Bodie's waistline.

"I did. But..."

"I know he's your best mate and God knows I'm not complaining about it," she carries on without registering his answer.

"Love..."

"... but sometimes I would appreciate some privacy. I mean..."

"Love."

"What?" she looks up finally.

"This is _Doyle's_ place."


	5. A Friend in the Morning Is a Friend Inde

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
A Friend in the Morning Is a Friend Indeed**

* * *

Doyle rings the bell impatiently. Why is it always _him_ who has to go and wake up his partner? And why does the little bastard never answer the door?

He fishes a set of reserve keys from his pocket. A new key appeared on it two weeks ago, when Bodie's girlfriend claimed it easier to let Doyle open the door himself instead of trotting all the way to it every bloody time he decided to call. Doyle puts the key to use and strolls through the living room to the bedroom.

He can't help grinning as he remembers the first time he woke the lovebirds up. That was at Bodie's and he greeted the girl with his favourite: "Ah, you must be Julie. I heard so much about you from Bodie!"

She hadn't got up, in fact she had merely budged, and turned to him still lying in the bed.

"How sweet of him," she said and measured him with a calm, curious glance. "And you must be Jeremy, the dimwit Bodie never stops complaining about." For a second he really felt hurt, until she lifted one corner of her mouth in a half-smile and he realised she was just teasing.

They are lying closer now, he notes, as he picks up Bodie's trousers from the floor and throws them at his head. Side by side, touching lightly, not entwined but somehow close.

"Morning, Bodie, duty calls," he says instead of a greeting. Bodie jerks his head up, looks around and collapses back on his pillow with a groan, a picture Doyle has grown familiar with over the years.

"D'you have enough time for coffee?" she asks, lifts on her elbows and leans over Bodie to whisper something in his ear.

"No," Doyle answers. "Move it, Bodie, the Cow's gonna eat us alive if we're late." Again.

"Can't have that, can we?" she murmurs sleepily, already settling back among covers as Bodie gets out of the bed and heads for the bathroom. The telephone rings and she groans unhappily.

"You not going to answer it?"

"Piss off, Doyle." She reaches out and grabs the first garment she touches. It's Bodie's shirt. She pulls it on and gets up in one swift movement, facing Doyle with all the interesting bits of anatomy already hidden.

Bodie emerges from the bathroom looking much more awake.

"Where's my shirt?" he yells.

"Take a clean one," she yells back and Doyle is surprised to see Bodie really getting one from a closet.

Passing her on their way out, Bodie caresses her back through the fabric and Doyle shakes his head. So domesticated.

"OK, OK, calm down, yeah? I'll be there in ten minutes. Well, I can't fly. See you in the evening?" she turns to them. Bodie shrugs and she sighs, acknowledging the answer before picking up at her phone conversation. "Fine, I'm on my way. I know. Calm down."

Once again, Doyle wonders what firm _exactly_ she works for. Bit unusual for a clerk, getting an early call to work. But he has no time for musings, the job's waiting, so he pushes his doubts to the back of his mind.

"Hear the bells?" he murmurs to Bodie teasingly on their way down the stairs and the dark head turns to him in surprise.

"What bells? She's not that kind."

"Just watch out, my dear, watch out."

"What, you think she'll kidnap me?" Doyle laughs. Kidnap?

You'll go willingly, he thinks.


	6. Whitecollars and Secretaries

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
White-collars and Secretaries**

* * *

As they round the corner to the old factory where the supposed bombers are hiding, since the first place they had been directed to turned out to be abandoned, they see three figures standing on the pavement - Cowley, an unfamiliar man in plain clothes and...

"Willis," Doyle grinds his teeth together. Bodie remains silent. One sideways glance tells Doyle the wound is still hurting, despite the years that have passed.

They pull over and walk over the group. The man they don't know welcomes them with a silent nod, so tiny his sandy hair barely moves. Cowley's eyes shoot them an irritated question - _what took you so long?_ - and Willis refuses to acknowledge them at all.

Cowley and Willis argue about whose men will go in. It seems the two departments are crossing wires here.

"We're losing time here," the sandy-haired man murmurs after a minute or so of a meaningles discussion.

"You're not going anywhere until I tell you," Willis snaps at him and he shrugs his shoulders. Blue eyes look directly in Doyle's, then Bodie's and the man jerks his head towards the factory wall.

"Don't know about you, but we were dragged out of our respective beds because of that too early for my liking," he complains as soon as they are out of their bosses earshots and offers them sweets from a plastic pack. Doyle shakes his head no while Bodie accepts. "I'm Jensen."

"And your partner?" Doyle asks, not willing to get too friendly with someone from Willis' mob.

"She's looking around." Jensen doesn't seem being bothered by his hostility. "Should be back any... here she comes." He waves and Doyle turns to look at the girl. And something stops nagging at Doyle's mind from the back of his head. _Click._

"Bloody hell, the place's dusty. Hey, Bodie. Ray." The familiar face is lit up by a grin for a while, then she frowns. "They still arguing?" Jensen nods, then flicks his eyes at Doyle and Bodie.

"You know them?"

"Sort of," Fran replies easily and moves swiftly to stand between her partner and her boyfriend, brushing her hand against Bodie's chest in the same way Bodie brushed his hand across her back an hour ago. Jensen smirks at that.

"You mean you've found yourself someone smart finally?"

"Piss off, Mark was very nice."

"And very dumb."

"I didn't want any _mental_ athletics from him."

"Erm," Bodie tries to interfere. Doyle wishes he could see that under some less job-related circumstances.

"What, lover, forgot to pick your tongue from my pillow?"

"Ung... erm..." he tries again.

"Thought you were an accountant," Doyle saves him.

"You told me you were secretaries," she replies with a raised eyebrow.

"You didn't believe that," Doyle retorts.

"Yeah, especially when I asked Miriam Sawyer 'bout you," Fran freely skips two weeks of a careful research on the topic of one Raymond Doyle, a name that for some reason rang a bell immediately.

"Oh, Miriam?" Doyle asks, remembering quite clearly the large, talkative girl with too many maskara and too little manners.

"She gave me a thourough description, down to the smallest freckled detail." Doyle lets his fury stop the blush of embarassment that threatens to rise to his cheeks.

"What?" Fran just smiles angelically, but once again the smile fades as she glances towards Cowley and Willis.

"I don't think they're going to come to any kind of agreement," she says slowly.

"So?" Jens asks.

"So, as far as I know, there are five bandits and one very good grass."

"Willis said no move."

"One very good grass. _My_ grass," Fran continues in a low, frightening voice and starts checking her gun seemingly absentmindedly.

"Absolutely no move." Doyle looks at the silent factory. Just a shell of a building once buzzing with activity, it seems to be daring them in the grey, unfriendly way. He reaches for his own gun.

"One very good grass," Fran repeats and Doyle understands Jensen has no chance. Better move it, then.

"And five very nasty bombers," he adds to the mixture and Fran glances at him shortly. Jensen groans.

"Thanks a lot, buddy."

"The ground floor seems to be empty," Fran supplies. "At least near the windows." They start to move towards the nearest entrance and Doyle turns to have a look at the bosses. Cowley faces them, but shows nothing and even moves a little so that Willis can't see what's happening. As Doyle turns back to follow Fran and Jensen, Bodie's hand grips his shoulder.

"Cowley didn't say we couldn't, did he?" he shrugs Bodie off. "And four's better than two."

For a moment, some of Bodie's emotions try to show on his face and Doyle thinks he can read them. Then they cross the treshold and the job begins.

* * *

**A/N:** Uff, these are getting longer and longer! The next one will conclude the story. Please review :) 


	7. When It Hits You

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, sadly. Brian Clemens made 'em up and everything 'round them... except London. I think.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**A Good Girlfriend  
When It Hits You**

* * *

Doyle pulls over in the dark, lonely alley behind the bakery and smiles. Two weeks ago, he would have felt extremely unsure about leaving his car right here. Then two drunk men decided to rape a girl in the alley... and had to face Fran who had heard the girl's screams through the kitchen window.

Needless to say they never stood a chance.

The word spread quickly and the alley quickly became a safe place. Doyle gets out and heads for the back door. He can hear voices somewhere from the inside and recognises Bodie. Bloody typical - Bodie, being on the sick leave, calls on his girlfriend, most probably to get his face stuffed, while those who are healthy enough work themselves raw. But Doyle isn't really upset about it, in fact, he's glad Bodie is still alive.

Not the first time since the moment Bodie was released from the hospital Doyle's mind races back, to the day three weeks ago, when the four of them entered the abandoned factory. Everything went smoothly the first five minutes and so and they covered most of the ground floor when they met that guy.

Doyle remembered him instantly, another one of Willis' men, name of Greed or Breed or something. Fran and Jens greeted him neutrally and he stared at Bodie for a moment. There were fireworks - of a completely different nature, of course - and Fran caught up immediately.

"Hey, Greeney, let's check it over there, shall we?" she said and dragged Green into another corridor.

If her face when they rejoined at the stairs was anything to go by, she had managed to lure the story out of him.

They left Green watching the stairs and climbed to the first floor. There was a row of offices at one side, the other opening into a vast hall. In the third office, there lay a body. Fran knelt beside it.

"Dead." She looked up. "That's him," she added unnecessarily.

"Bad luck," Jens supplied sympathetically. Fran shrugged and frisked the dead man quickly. Doyle followed Bodie out to search the next office, pausing when Fran suddenly hissed.

Then the world exploded.

Fran somehow managed to reach the pile of debris in the same time as Doyle. Bodie lay at the bottom of it - pieces of wood, metal, plastic - unconscious and bleeding heavily. Fran pressed the head of the palm against a spot on Bodie's abdomen. She knew what she was doing and the bleeding slowed down remarkably. Doyle utilised his R/T and called an ambulance and checked his partner himself.

The explosion hadn't caught him directly but something heavy had hit the side of his head and something sharp had torn his left side. Added to an amount of bruises and scratches, Bodie had gone out of it pretty well. Doyle smiled at Fran. She must have felt the same way he was feeling - relieved but cold inside, worried and helpless.

"Finnegan!" Willis' voice roared from the stairs and he emerged, followed closely by Green and not so closely by Cowley. Doyle glanced at Willis, briefly, to find his face red, whether with the effort to run the flight of stairs or the anger he couldn't tell. Jens stepped into Willis' way but was pushed aside as Willis approched Fran. She was watching Bodie's face.

"What do you think you're doing? I said no move!" Fran didn't respond to this, not to anything else, she remained silent until the paramedics arrived and relieved her. She stood up, face blank but for eyes.

If her eyes had been throwing daggers at Willis, it would have been kinder to him.

He must have realised something because he backed away from her few steps. Then he stopped, trying to regain his superior position. Fran stopped short of him and Doyle found himself anticipating her words. Only she didn't speak.

Her hips swang elegantly and with full force, she hit Willis' jaw. He staggered and fell to his back.

Right now, in the back of Fran's bakery, Doyle's lips curve into a smile and he closes his eyes to savour the moment again.

Willis was staring at Fran stupidly. She threw something at him - her ID - then her gun, holster... she paused with a set of keys, whistled and threw them to Jens. Willis touched his chin - there was a trace of blood there, not his, sadly - and blurted: "What?"

"If you can't figure out what and why I'm doing, you should resign," Fran responded airily and moved to follow the paramedics. She stopped to look at Doyle.

With an easiness he regretted afterwards he let her go with them.

"You..." Willis growled in Jens' direction, but the sandy-haired man didn't let him finished. He threw first the keys, then his ID and gun at him and saluted him mutely.

"Clear up?" he said to Doyle as if nothing had happenned.

"I imagine," Doyle said when they were alone, "you might need a lift somewhere."

"Yeah, and sometime during that lift you may tell me why the fuck I have just resigned."

Doyle thought so much of the sentence that he put it in his report later. It might have been or might have been not one of the reasons why Jens appeared at the CI5 headquarters two weeks later. Some operatives queried why Fran didn't appear as well. The smarter operatives guessed that.

The voices grow louder as Doyle walks through the maze that is the back of the bakery. The place is packed with crates and pieces of furniture. More than half of it has nothing to do with the business but since the building was available either whole or not at all Fran uses it to store her stuff... and Jens'... and some of Bodie's.

And there's still some space left.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Fran's voice purrs from behind the nearest wall of junk. Doyle recognises a closet Bodie hasn't managed to squirm into his latest flat. He peers through a gap and sees Bodie sitting at a table in that small area Fran actually uses as a shop store - there are shelves with flour and sugar and a great amount of various jars at the further wall and a door that leads into a small, dark hall between the shop, kitchens and stairs to the tiny flat above shop.

How _exactly_ Fran managed to obtain such a building within a fortnight remains a mystery to Doyle.

"Nothing," Bodie growls and Doyle's eyebrows shoot upwards. Despite his best intentions he remains hidden in the dark maze and waits for Fran's answer - because there must be an answer. They both know what this _nothing_ really means.

"So?" she asks softly and straddles Bodie's lap. She expects him to evade the subject, then, and wants to eliminate his means to it. "Bodie," she insists and Doyle feels this is not the first time they are confronted with this particular problem.

Doyle would give his next rise to learn what exactly is this particular problem.

Bodie is watching the opposite wall sullenly. Fran tries to block his view, unsuccessfully, since he doesn't actually _look_ at anything, and finally sighs, gets hold of Bodie's chin and forces him to look at her.

"Bodie," she starts with a pained expression but stops short at a loss of words. She sighs again, heavily, and kisses him instead.

Bodie pushes her back, of his lap, and stands up. Doyle blinks.

"Leave me be." And he turns his back to her. She's standing there, confused and hurt, and Doyle realises this is probably the first time he sees her not knowing what to do.

"Bodie," she tries again and reaches for him. He shrugs her off. "Talk to me," she begs, this time remembering to keep to herself. No response, so she adds: "Please," in a tiny, pathetic voice. Bodie turns back to her, very slowly. He doesn't say anything, however, and doesn't look at her, choosing his right shoe as an adequate alternative.

"What's wrong? Really," Fran queries softly. Doyle feels very uncomfortable. He realises what he's witnessing is very important and may mean the end of the relationship. As much as he wanted it to just end in the early days, he has changed his mind and prefers everything to remain _just like this._ He wants to help, yet he knows he can't - there's no way - and he knows he should leave and come back few minutes later, but he can't - can't bring himself to turn away and go. So he stays, feeling miserable and cheap.

"It's that chap from Birmingham," Bodie says eventually.

"Who?" Fran blurts out.

"You know, the one with that red cap. The funny guy."

"Oh. What has he done? Has he..."

"You like him," Bodie interrupts her accusingly.

"What?!" Fran seems to be truly shocked. So is Doyle. From her previous answer he's deducted she doesn't even remember the man, at least not as someone important. To Doyle, she was genuine enough. But Bodie doesn't believe that.

"You don't have to lie, I've noticed, you know."

"I don't even know what you _think_ you've noticed!" Fran sounds offended.

"The way he looks at you. The way you look at him." Doyle's mind starts to run back to match these accusations to anything real before he realises that he doesn't know the "chap from Birmingham". He's probably never met him.

"What are you talking about?" Fran asks, getting angry now.

"No need to get all defensive, love, I'm not angry," Bodie assures her.

Doyle considers shooting through his leg to determine whether he's dreaming or whether there is really a very, very surreal conversation taking place at the back of Fran's bakery.

"Yeah, you don't sound one bit angry to me, just barking mad. Are you trying to tell me something or is it one of your jokes. Because it's not funny at all, you know."

"I'm deadly serious."

"Dead, more like, if you don't make yourself clear," Fran growls.

"Now, it's only natural you'll look for someone else when I... I'm..." Bodie stops and turns to the nearest wall, resting one elbow against it.

"If you have to stand here sputtering nonsense, at least sputter it in whole sentences!" Fran doesn't try to meet Bodie's eyes any more and the gentle, caring woman is gone. She's angry now, furious even - Doyle can tell by her shaking shoulders and hands balled in fists - and ready to explode any second now.

Doyle reconsiders leaving the scene for the safety reasons.

"It's natural for you to find yourself a man who can _satisfy_ you," Bodie says, his own ire rising, his own hands balling and if something miraculous doesn't happen soon, something very nasty will happen instead.

The meaning of the sentence reaches Doyle's mind after few seconds of utter, complete silence.

Eh?

Fran is astonished as well, so Doyle doesn't need to feel ashamed by his own inability to form a cohorent thought.

This all because of...

Fran's expression changes, as the realisation dawns upon her, softens, angst and confusion gone, her shoulders and back visibly relax.

Doyle thinks the whole situation is ridiculous. Not only because Bodie wants to break up because he can't get it up - that would be strange but could be explained using words like pride and reputation - but that he can't just do it and be over with it, that he doesn't seem to know how...

Fran breathes in deeply, taking control over her body and mind, planning her next step and preparing to handle the crisis now she knows it's origin. Once calm, she steps closer to Bodie and carefully puts a hand on his shoulder. He flinches, but doesn't move away and Fran starts rubbing his back in a soothing motion.

"I don't like him," she speaks softly. "I like you. And I want you..." just the tiniest moment of hesitation, as Fran realises this might not be the best thing to be said, "... as a whole. Not just your cock. Sex is very nice, but it's not the most important thing in my life." A pause, again, and Doyle wonders why.

"You are," Fran finishes quietly, her hand still massaging Bodie's back and for a very long minute it's the only movement in the room - in the world, seemingly.

Doyle holds his breath. This, Fran has avoided for months, knowing Bodie well enough to realise he wouldn't accept a commitment such an admission would imply. Doyle, unlike Fran, knows Bodie well enough to understand that at least one part of Bodie wants the commitment, and it must have been this part the led him to jumping to stupid conclusions. But it's still a risk - it may still be the wrong way to fix this - and Doyle is holding is breath and Fran is rubbing Bodie's back and everything is still for an infinite minute until...

Bodie turns.

Doyle has never seen him look like this. But then, there are many a situation in which he hasn't seen him, dealing with serious proposals coming first to his head.

For some reason, peeing comes to his head as a second and Doyle has to bite his lip to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter.

"Am I?" Bodie's expression is still unreadable, but there must be something in his eyes Doyle can't see from his hideaway behind Bodie's refugee closet, because Fran smiles and reaches up to brush something from her lover's face and Bodie doesn't push her away this time and smiles back.

Doyle remembers, very conveniently, that he forgot to lock his car... or might have forgotten... and goes to check it. Just to be sure.

When he returns, loudly this time, he finds them bantering contently, Fran running around shelves counting jars and packets and Bodie sitting at the table devastating a plate of pastries. He steals one, too, and retreats to the other side of the table where he - or rather the pastry - should be safe from Bodie.

"Hiya!" Jens calls from the front. "You're out of beer!"

"You drink it, you buy it!" Fran yells back, but leaves to investigate, muttering about bloody thirsty ex-partners. Bodie watches her, keeping the other eye on the pastries.

"The Cow says you can start in the Records tomorrow," Doyle mentions. Bodie grins.

"Great!"

"... but only if your psychiatrist lets you. Can't let maniacs to deal with the Xerox machine down there."

"Sure, it has great value - antiquarian and all."

"Yeah, if you break it, you'll never see your wage unharmed."

"That's blackmail. And kidnap. And murder, since it can't exist without me."

"You'll spend the rest of your life in prison, then," Doyle responds, stretching causality unbelievably thin.

"Great," Bodie exclaims with a grin that denies any causality, thin or solid.

"Have you been smoking anything?" Doyle asks suspiciously. "Wait, hey, what's in these pastries?"

"It's just hit me," Bodie confines with an easiness, "I'm a very happy man."

"Happy, yes, and maybe very, but a man?" Doyle teases before his brains manage to stop him.

Oops.

* * *

**A/N:** I don't ask you to believe it, because I don't believe it myself. I just wanted to belt Willis one and used shamelessly Fran to do it for me. Cleverly, too, because she could hit him harder. :) But I ask you and beg you to review. Please. It makes my day every time, no matter how short message you leave me.  
And yes, this is the end. I have some more in store (in my lazy mind, though), but if I manage to type it, it will be a new story.

I read through it and debugged it as much as I could, so if you find any grammatical error still in there or a typo, you'll have to point it out to me to ever get rid of it. Ufff.


End file.
